


Summer Days

by DivertedBird



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Inspired by Drama music video, Light Angst, The Terror of Teenage Friendship Groups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25989274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivertedBird/pseuds/DivertedBird
Summary: These hot, hazy days are the perfect time to make new friends - Beomgyu isn't going to miss his chance.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Summer Days

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the [MV for the Japanese version of Drama](https://youtu.be/UUOGVgComrU) and here we are! 
> 
> Content warnings for mentions of blood and minor injury

The sun is at a perfect angle to shine in his eyes. The air is warm and heavy, an ideal summer afternoon. Sounds seem delayed – the thump of the basketball echoes across the court. Beomgyu watches the players. Four isn’t enough – surely an extra person would make things more fun? But no one said anything when he showed up earlier, so for now he sits on a bench. Maybe later they’ll need another player – or he can be their audience. That’s good too.

The basketball stutters across the court and rolls into his sneaker. It’s warm when he picks it up, the heat of the day transferred into the rubber. They’re all looking at him now, expectant. Beomgyu approaches them slowly. This is it, right? This his invitation into the game. He knows how this bit goes. He’ll do a few good moves, joke around with them, and by the end of the game they’ll know each other better. That’s how friendships start. Smiling, Beomgyu lifts the ball and shoots it into the centre of the hoop.

They’re going bike riding. He met them at the tunnel, and now the five of them are streaming down the road together. Beomgyu could like bike riding – he hasn’t done it much before, but this is his chance to try it out. The others are faster than him; he’ll have to practice if they’re going to be doing this often. The breeze blows in his ears – he stands on the pedals, ready to ride harder. The others are only just ahead, sunlight catching on the bright colours in their clothes. Beomgyu pumps his feet to catch up.

  
Snack time. Beomgyu didn’t bring enough money; he can only afford a drink for himself. Next time he’ll bring his whole allowance – a day like this would be perfect for ice cream. He could buy one for everyone; he’s generous with his friends. He peers over Heuningkai’s shoulder as the two of them discuss their drink choice – they’re getting closer already.

  
Lazy afternoon, streets shimmering with heat. They’re scattered across the pavement, faces red and sweat drying in their hair. Beomgyu doesn’t know what they’re playing – it’s a fighting game, but older than any version he’s tried, buttons and joysticks and a grainy screen. Heuningkai pulls off a winning move; Soobin groans next to him. The rest of them provide encouragement. The milk crates are uncomfortable, not enough room for everyone to sit, but Beomgyu doesn’t mind standing. He’s considerate like that. He pulls out his phone – standing at the back, he’s at the perfect angle for a group photo. He snaps a few shots. The other boys are all absorbed in the game, but he’ll show them later. They’ll be glad he was there to capture the memories.

Beomgyu didn’t know this place existed - some sort of junkyard, right near the trainline. There’s a collection of random objects and tattered furniture. He’s not sure about some of it - Yeonjun’s armchair smells a bit mouldy. But everyone else is lounging easily – they must have spent a lot of time here. It’s like a clubhouse, or a secret hideout, and Beomgyu’s been invited for the first time. The dinginess will probably seem comfortable once he’s spent more time here.

He wasn’t sure where to sit – what if he stole someone’s spot by mistake? - so Beomgyu is perched on a wobbly box. He brought a ball today in case anyone wanted to play, but that’s not the plan, so he holds it instead, bouncing it against his knees occasionally. They’re watching Soobin fight an inflatable tube man, and it’s not clear who’s winning. Beomgyu fumbles his ball, reaches down to collect it, and feels a sharp sting on his finger. He pulls it back – there’s a scratch, a single drop of blood beading on his skin. There must be a stray nail on his box-seat. Beomgyu squeezes the wound, watches more blood well up.

Yeonjun leans back too far and topples the sunken armchair backwards. He hits the ground with a furious squawk. Instantly, everyone is in motion, huddling around him. Beomgyu hovers, trying to see if Yeonjun is injured. Yeonjun looks up them and pouts, holding up his unmarred arm. Not badly hurt, then. The tension breaks, everyone beginning to tease. Taehyung pulls some band-aids out from somewhere, the kiddie kind with cartoon pictures. They decorate Yeonjun’s elbow with an array of them, forming a colourful pattern. Beomgyu looks at his own finger – should he ask for a band-aid too? But everyone is joking now, it would upset the mood. Beomgyu smiles at his friends, pressing his thumb into the wound until the bleeding stops.

  
  
They're probably not supposed to be in this carwash. Beomgyu asked about it and they all just laughed, so he won’t mention it again. He keeps looking out the door, though, waiting for an adult to appear and drag them away. Beomgyu never gets in trouble; his parents would be so shocked. Their luck has held so far, though. It always seems to go that way with these guys - some sort of magic surrounds them, protecting them from life’s disappointments.

It _is_ amusing, playing with the pressure hoses. There's yelling and shrieking and water everywhere. They're all drenched, soapy water dripping from sleeves and hair and noses. Beomgyu isn't dressed for this, his vest may never be the same, but that's not important. He bounces around, trying not to slip in a puddle. A stray jet catches him in the chest and nearly knocks him over, but he catches himself on a wall. “I’m fine,” he says, but nobody noticed him, too caught up in the mayhem. Beomgyu grins, tipping his head back to the ceiling. Soap bubbles catch on his glasses, trickle into his mouth. This is what fun is. This is what he’s been looking for all this time. He spreads his arms and closes his eyes, spinning in a slow, happy circle.

On their bikes once again. The night air has turned chilly, and the wind whistles uncomfortably through his damp clothes. He wants to slow down, prefers riding in the welcoming summer daylight. His glasses are smudged with leftover soap, making it hard to see. Beomgyu thinks of calling out to the others, asking them to wait. They’re so far ahead, though – if he hesitates, he might lose them completely. He keeps pedalling - in time, this will get easier. Once they’ve been friends longer, he’ll be able to keep up.

They enter the tunnel and it gets even darker. There must be a bump or a rock on the road – his front wheel catches on something. The handlebars twist and the bike goes flying. Beomgyu lands heavily on his shoulder. The impact is shocking, radiating all the way through him. He tastes blood: he’s bitten his tongue. His arm really hurts – could it be broken? He's never broken a bone before. He'll have to go to hospital; his parents will be beside themselves. But other kids break things all the time; people are always coming to school with casts and exciting stories. Beomgyu keeps his eyes closed for a few seconds longer, pulling himself together. Everything is fine. The doctors will sort things out, and then he'll have a story of his own. People will want to look at his cast, to sign it - maybe Heuningkai will do a drawing. He opens his eyes, smiling reassuringly at his friends – but they’re not there. The group is halfway down the tunnel – they’ve stopped and turned to look, but no one is coming back. No one is going to check on him.

Beomgyu sits up – his injured arm works fine, it must not be broken after all. No cast or doctors, then. Standing is tricky, his legs weak and wobbly, but he manages. It’s quiet, the only sound one of his bike wheels, whirring uselessly against the tarmac. The road stretches between them; he considers what to say.

He swallows, wets his lips, and then he’s ready to speak. “Don’t worry about me,” he calls. “I’m fine - you guys go on ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

They look at him a moment longer, faces unreadable. Then, one by one, they mount their bikes and leave. Their shapes grow indistinct the further they ride, until eventually they blur into nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/fanbirdthoughts)


End file.
